#1916
She whispered with a silent symphony as in solitude.
The piece indecently rhymed to prove a point unknown -
Of belonging, and beatitude, and an untamed soulfulness.
My innocent spirit struck ablaze with a thoughtfully eternal flame.
Her doll eyes, pale with a seemingly clear whiteness -
Of beauty, and of purity, and of heathen health,
Bribed my ignorant heart with a big sum of worthless treasure
To prescript my dreams, and also my wet dreams.
I succumbed with a lot of faith
And let her in,
Then out,
But left me inside-out
With a banquet,
But of thorns!
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
Accidentally fell
into a small clearing
in a wood
to escape from battle
and saw the bodies strewn
line on line hundreds
of soldiers by soldiers
some whole as if sleeping
other not so
loss of limbs
or damaged beyond recognition.
He stood still and stared
and wearily leaned against a tree
some of these he'd known
had smoked and joked with
and talked of home
and fireside chat with
now lying here dead
and still and silent
except for the firing of guns
and rifles and bombs exploding
in a nearby field
just thrown here
like so much wasted goods
or carcasses of dead meat.
He lit a cigarette
with shaking hands
and closed his eyes
and pretended he was home
and safe and in his mother's arms
or by the fireside
looking at the flames
then a bomb exploded
extra loud
and he couldnt recall
any of their names.
© 17 minutes ago, Terry Collett
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 3:52 AM UTC
You lay him under the sun,
down there on the muddied earth;
you and another soldier
wearied out by hot battle
day after day and of night.
The young soldier was dying;
blood coming out as he spoke;
didn't know what he'd spoken:
not prayer or praise nor poor joke.
There were others near by him,
some of them worse or were dead,
without limbs, some without head,
some in rhe mud half buried.
That one you watched as he died,
his eyes open, staring out
at the cold grey sky above;
he didnt die from hatred,
But the simple lack of love.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
When they brought
the big guns up to the Front
it was you who brought them up
with other soldiers
of your regiment.
You who loaded shells
or brought shells
to the gun or you
who set it off
with a sense of wonder
then boredom
then the wonderment
of where it went.
You saw what their shells
could do to men
nearby in the trenches
how earth and bodies
could fly up in pieces
like a dark deadly stew.
Then there was the mud
and the guns getting stuck
or the horses rooted
in the ground
with their flashing eyes
and frightened cries.
You stood gazing
at the moon at night
knowing Fritz saw
the same light as you
and knowing he thought of home
as you do too
with the image of his wife
snuggled down in bed
with him in his head.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
You had not imagined
you'd see the sights
you'd seen, or the smells
of death or sounds of
guns and shells.
You stood in the trench smoking,
inhaling slow and purposeful,
pushing, as best you could,
the sights seen from your mind.
Your boots stood in the mud,
your feet damp
where the boots leaked;
feeling the movements of lice,
you scratched.
You exhaled the smoke
and watched it
rise unevenly
before your eyes.
Two dead soldiers
lay a few feet away,
both you knew,
one quite a card,
now just a corpse
to be moved
when safe to move.
You vaguely recalled
your life back home,
the simple eagerness
to enlist.
You thought of Rosina
back in Blighty,
her bright eyes,
dark curly hair,
wishing you were
with her back there.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
One of my regiment
died from dysentery
while others were shot
or blown up by shells.
Trench foot, rat bites,
lice, not to mention
that poor ****
who shot himself
when it got too much.
Sidney paused
taking out an extra strong mint
and ******
I Walked with him
to the dining hall
in case he fell.
I sat him carefully
in his special chair.
I went to go,
but he grabbed my arm.
Used to crucify some
at the Front, tie them not nail,
field punishment no 1
it was called.
Died from dysentery,
what a way go.
Sidney let go of my arm
and stared ahead
musing no doubt
on the dead.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 3:29 AM UTC
The nurse
has left the room;
Polly tucks
George into bed,
settling him down.
Quieter now
after the shouting
and disturbance earlier.
He had been convinced
Quigly was out
in No Man's Land:
out there
he had said,
pointing over
the grounds at dusk,
moonlight
making shadows.
I'll send help for him,
Polly had said.
Don't loose
more men on that,
George had shouted.
His parents came out
rushing onto the verandah
to see what
the fuss was about.
The nurse had tried
to quieten George,
unsuccessfully.
Laughter from guests
in the house
brought George to tears.
Quigly's bought it,
George had moaned.
His eyes were large
and staring out
at the grounds
where stars
had glimmered.
Polly had managed
to get him back
in the house;
the nurse following behind,
eyeing them both.
George lies
with eyes closed.
Polly leans over him.
She wishes he was
as he was before the War
and his time at the Front
and the mental breakdown.
He'd have had her
in his bed by now,
and have ****** her
to joy and back.
Now he lies silent,
eyes shut.
She leans down
and kisses his forehead.
Him back
from the Front
half living,
half dead.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
George lies in the dark
of his room, a slit of light
from the moon squeezes
through the gap of the
curtains and makes a streak
onto the floor and the wall
by his bed. He hears gunshot
and explosions, hears men's
moans from No-Man's Land,
senses rats run along the trench.
His hands shake, his eyes stare.
By the window fast asleep a
nurse sits unaware of the wars
inside George's head as he lies
in bed. He watches as Grimes
sits against the trench wall,
smoking a cigarette, then
stands up and goes to the steps,
and looks over the top; smoke
from his cigarette floating
about his head; a whine, splat
and Grimes falls back dead.
Georges stares and mumbles.
Grimes lies staring into the
blackness as if an answer is there.
George gets out of bed, walks
to the wall to tend to Grimes.
The chair by the wall where
the nurse's coat lies stands still.
George talks to the coat, talks
to Grimes. The coat is silent
and unmoving like one dead.
George sees Grimes lying there
in his broken mind and head.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
On his bed
in his room
George sees the remains
of Gilmore laid out
****** and foul smelling,
Polly tries
to get him
to lie down for a while
to rest
to calm his mind
and nerves,
Gilmore's remains
are laid there
he says
pointing to the bed
with a shaking finger,
Polly looks at the bed
where George's pyjamas
fresh cleaned lie
ready to put on,
George stares at her
move them
put them
some place else
he says
his finger
shaking faster,
Polly removes the pyjamas
and places them
on the dresser
over by the wall
and turns back to George,
I have laid them to rest
she says taking hold
of his shaking hand in hers
and taps it gently,
he mutters about
the stench of the trench
about the young soldier
who shook so much
when the whistle
to go over the top blew
he ****** himself
and shook so much
we left him there left him,
George stares ahead
at the bed holding on to
Polly's hands and mutters
left him there,
Polly wishes George
was his old self
and would take her
in his bed as he had
before the War came
now he shakes and stares
as if all around him
were explosions and flares.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
Polly stands
behind George
at the window
in his room,
the nurse has left
gone to have a break
and a smoke,
George stares
out the window,
see them, Polly?
see them coming?
Polly puts her hands
on his shoulders,
yes, George,
I see them,
she says,
watching the gardener
and the young garden boy,
walking
with their tools
along
by the vegetable garden,
if I had my gun
I'd shoot them,
George says,
I know George,
but you need to rest,
let others worry
about them,
Polly whispers
in his ear,
George sighs,
pushes his fingers
through his hair,
they got Miller,
he says,
took his head
clean off,
lay in the trench
staring at me,
I know, George,
you need to rest,
Polly whispers,
he sighs,
his fingers tap
the window ledge,
his eyes staring ahead,
the gardener and boy
disappear from sight,
they've gone the cowards,
George says,
hidden from sight,
ought to have shot them
while I had the chance,
you've no gun,
George,
Polly says,
rubbing his shoulders,
wishing he was in bed with her
as he used to
before the War
and this illness,
she the housemaid,
he the masters' son,
she watches as his hands
tap his legs
getting faster and faster,
steady George my love,
calm now,
she kisses his ear,
he sighs and relaxes,
turns and looks at her,
smiles,
then suddenly cries,
around him,
he sees a room
full of dead men
and countless flies.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
George's father stares
at the nurse,
young thing,
blue eyed,
he wants her
does he?
Yes,
the nurses says,
calls her name out
and won't be calmed
until she's there,
but Mr Dudman said
not to bring her,
the father stares
at the nurse,
then out the window
showing the trees
and fields beyond,
if George calls for her
go get her no matter
what Dudman says,
the nurse nods,
feels relief,
George's hard to manage
once he's in a mood,
anything else?
The father says,
no all well otherwise,
the nurse says,
wishing she was back
at the hospital
caring for wounded soldiers
from the front
whose injuries
she could see,
not this mental type,
she leaves the study,
the father back
at his desk writing,
she walks along
the dark passageway
and up the wide staircase,
she sees George
by the open window
in the chair,
he stares out
at the view hands
over his eyebrows
as if seeing
through binoculars,
he doesn't turn around
when she enters
he stares
at the enemy soldiers
advancing,
Polly see them
coming?
He says suddenly,
pointing at
the field ahead
(cows slowly walking)
the nurse stands
behind him,
hands on his shoulders,
see them Polly?
He repeats,
She's not here George
she's not here,
get her now
I want my wife,
George says
turning round,
the nurse nods
and leaves the room
without a sound.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
George sits
by the window
of his room,
there are rooks
over the far trees,
over some field
cows moo
on the air,
he stares at the horizon
expecting explosions,
seeing the enemies' trenches
over by Tenet's farm
teem with life,
the nurse behind him
watches him sit
his head to one side
mumbling words,
George doesn't want
to turn round
he knows Wilkes' head
will still lay on the floor
mouthing words,
the nurse offers him
a cup of tea
brown and now warm,
he sees a ******
walking along
by the drive
rifle over his shoulder
getting bolder,
you must drink George
the nurse says
putting the cup by his elbow
on the small side table,
Mitchum's hand lay
on the trench floor
at his feet
the wedding ring
still there
muddied gold,
where's Polly?
he says not looking around
in case the ******
crouches out of sight,
she's busy
the nurse says
(having been told
by Dudman the butler
not to bring her),
bring her here
he says
I need her to see
the ****** fellow
to see for herself,
the nurse looks over
his shoulder
along the drive
the gardener walks
with ***
POLLY
George bellows
POLLY
he shouts again
causing the gardener
to lift his head and stare
who was there,
the nurse puts a hand
on his shoulder
to calm him down
she'll be coming soon
she says in his ear,
his eyes gaze
as the ****** disappears
into the door
the driveway is empty,
an explosion of rooks
hit the sky,
George wide-eyed
begins to cry.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
You are not
to go into
Master George's room
unless told to
Dudman the butler says
eyeing her sternly
Susie can take
his meals to him
and the nurse there
can nurse him
Polly says nothing
and walks away
back to her task
of polishing silver
watching him go off
and talk to the cook
and nod his head
Polly wants
the old George back
not the broken man
the War has harmed
in mind and soul
she remembers
when he was home last
from the Front
she lay in his bed
and they made love
in the late hours
of the night
him shafting her
to a kingdom come
remember what I said
Dudman says
passing her by
with that dark stare
in his eye
Polly watches him go
wishes she could
but knows best not
the nurse will be there
and George will be sat
at the window
with his lost
faraway stare.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
The nurse,
whom George's parents hired,
begins to settle him down
in his room,
after his parents and Polly
had left.
Where is she?
George says.
Where is whom?
the nurse asks.
Polly,
where is she?
The nurse is unsure
who Polly is,
so sits him
in a chair by the window,
which looks out
on the grounds and drive.
Is she your wife?
the nurse asks.
George looks at her:
I don't know,
maybe she is,
he says,
looking at the nurse puzzled:
who are you?
I am Nurse Willows,
sent you look after you,
she says.
Where's Polly?
he says.
I'll find out,
you relax and sit quiet,
the nurse says,
and leaves the room.
He stares out
of the window;
it is still,
no bombs are blowing up,
no bodies are out there
in trenches,
the trees are whole,
not splintered
and blown down.
He looks into the room:
Wilkes's head
lies on the floor
by the bed,
the eyes gazing
at him questioningly.
An explosion in his head
stirs him to jump
from the chair,
and run to the wall
where he stands shaking,
staring at the head.
Be careful Wilkes,
be careful,
he says.
He looks at his writing desk
large eyed,
a hand lies there,
palm upwards,
a finger bloodied
points towards him.
No no,
I can't,
he says.
He turns,
and the door opens,
and he shouts:
GET DOWN!
******
The nurse and Polly
stare at him,
then go to him.
Calm down,
the nurse says.
Polly takes his hand
and holds it:
it's all right George,
no one
will harm you here.
He looks at her childlike:
Polly,
you are here.
he says,
and holds her
close to him.
The nurse looks
at them uncertain
what to say or do.
Has he a wife?
she asks.
No not yet,
Polly says,
looking at the nurse
over George's shoulder,
as he hugs her
tight to him.
The door opens
and George's mother
enters in:
what is the noise?
He is unsettled,
the nurse says,
and called for Polly,
so I got her
not knowing
who she was.
The mother goes
to George and Polly:
settle him Polly,
then get back
to your work.
Polly nods.
Come on,
George,
his mother says,
you are home now,
time to rest.
George looks
at his mother
over Polly's shoulder:
who are you?
he asks.
I'm Mama,
she says.
He looks at Polly:
is she?
he says.
Polly nods:
yes George,
she is,
Polly says.
George turns away
from his mother,
and stares at Wilkes's head
on the floor by the bed,
the eyes gazing at him.
Get Wilkes's head
off the floor,
it can't stay there,
George says
pointing by the bed,
unable to get
the eyes gazing, out
of his mind and head.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
A car arrives in the drive
and stops outside
the front door
all the servants are there
and George's parents
wait there all importantly
watching the car door
the chauffeur gets out
and opens the back door
and George back
from the hospital
for shell shock
gets out and puts a hand
over his forehead
to block out sunlight
then looks around the grounds
around the house
his mother steps forward
and takes his hand
welcome home George
she says
George stares at her
he nods but doesn't smile
he looks into the faces
of all those standing there
by the front door
as if amongst strangers
his father moves forward
and gently takes his son's arm
George moves forward uncertainly
his feet unsteady
his hands shaking slightly
his eyes move over the servants
wide and staring
then he stops
and points to Polly
Polly
he says softly
almost a mumble
she gazes at him
uncertain what to do
the mother looks at Polly
come help Polly
Master George recognizes you
and indicates
with her other hand
that she should come
so Polly walks
to George's side
and says nothing
but smiles at him
and he smiles back
we'll go to his room
the father says
a footman takes the bags
and follows George
and his parents and Polly
inside the house
and up the wide staircase
the other servants
including the butler Dudman
move away from the door
and go about their tasks
Dudman goes in
and stares at the party
walking upstairs slowly
and sighs
Polly has overstepped the line
as far as he is concerned
he'll have to watch her
he muses watching the party
disappear from the stairs
and gives the absent Polly
one of his cold stares.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
Take a moment to stop and stare,
At memorials in your town,
The named names that never came home,
Some had died at The Somme,
No shouts no shots no whistles,
No guns no bangs no shells,
No barbed wire or trenches,
And no gun powder smells,
All is very quite now,
After one hundred years,
Unlike the time the dead were named,
When families shed their tears,
No khaki uniforms no tin hats,
No bayonets to stab a heart,
No body parts no blood no gore,
No grenades to blow you apart,
Silently remembering,
Their memory lingers on,
They fought for King and country,
And died there at The Somme.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Polly lies on
George's bed,
eyes closed,
feeling the mattress
beneath her,
trying to imagine
George there beside her,
or better still
on top of her,
as he was that last night
before he went back
to the Front and war.
She tries to pretend
he is kissing her,
touching her,
impregnating her
with his upper-class seed.
She holds herself,
embraces her body
with her own hands,
What you doing Polly?
Susie Simmons says.
Polly opens her eyes,
and leaps from the bed.
Frightened the ****** life
of out me,
you silly cow,
Polly says,
grabbing hold
of Susie's maid's uniform.
Sorry,
Susie says,
Gripe asked me
to see where you were;
what was you doing
lying on Master George bed?
Never you mind
what I was doing,
what the heck do
you think you were
doing making me
nigh wet myself?
Polly releases Susie's
uniform and tidies
her own hair,
and brushes down
her uniform.
Was you thinking of him?
Susie says.
What's it to you
if I were?
Nothing just asking,
Susie says.
Well let's get back
to Gripe
and see what she wants,
Polly says.
Susie nods and leaves
the room,
and Polly gives
a last look back
at the room and bed,
and keeps the memories
of him and her
in her head.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:15 AM UTC
Polly polishes
George's room
as Gripe had told her.
Rubs the polish cloth
over the sideboard
into a bright shine.
Polish smell;
sniffs it;
sniffs the cloth.
Rubs again,
another surface.
The window is open;
fresh air enters,
blows curtains inwards.
She hears birdsong
from outside.
She pauses polishing;
goes to the window
and peers out.
Wonders where
George is.
How he is doing
in that hospital
with shell-shock.
Across the Channel
war is on.
Men being killed;
men driven mad
with sight seen.
George said about
seeing a head gazing
at him on trench top.
She bites her lip;
wishes he
was back home.
The Master's son;
she a maid.
He and she making love
in his bed that last time.
Wants it again;
warm in his bed;
him kissing her.
His moustache tickling
her to giggles,
shafting her
to a seventh heaven.
She walks back
to the bed
and lies down.
Imagines him there;
knows he is not,
just lies and stares
at the ceiling
with that deep down
lost feeling.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 1:46 AM UTC
Outside the door
of the butler Dudman
Polly sticks up
two fingers at him
and mouths a string
of four-letter words
she strides off
towards the kitchen
where Mrs Gripe
(the cook)
is waiting for her
Polly's thoughts
are on George(master)
and what Dudman said
about her not
having *** with him
when he comes home
from the place
he is resting
with shell-shock
from the War
or you will be fired
she hears Dudman's voice
in her ears
as she climbs down
the stairs and along
the passage way
she passes Susie
near the kitchen
entering the scullery
where have you been?
Susie says eyeing her
never you mind
Polly says
and enters the kitchen
where Gripe stands
hands on her hips
and gazing at her
where you been?
Been waiting for you
Gripe says coldly
Polly bites her tongue
and goes to the sink
and begins
to peel the potatoes
cat got your tongue?
I said where have you been?
Gripe says
Mr Dudman wanted
to see me about something
but I am here now
Polly says
Gripe stares at her
what about?
Gripe says
ask him
Polly says
peeling the potatoes
with viciousness
I am asking you
Gripe says
and I expect respect
not rudeness girl
Polly gouges out
a potatoes eye
and turns towards Gripe
about something I do
and mustn't do in future
and I am sorry
for being rude
Polly says
Gripe stares at her
and Polly stares back
about you
and Master George?
Gripe says
Polly reddens
and looks away
and nods
be discreet and careful
if Master George
wants you
Gripe says quietly
and turns away
and puts a big saucepan
on the stove
silence comes
and Polly peels on
and wonders what
George is doing now
and maybe
she thinks
Gripe isn't always
the big cow.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
The butler
Dudman stares
at Polly
as she stands
in his stark
small office.
Master George
will be back
home again
very soon
with a nurse
for his care,
Dudman says.
Polly smiles;
o that's good,
she utters,
relaxing
(she'd thought he'd
summoned her
to complain
about her
domestic work).
However,
Dudman says,
that does not
mean that you
will attempt
once again
to enter
or to have
******
dealings with
him in bed.
Polly blushes
lost for words.
I've told you
before this
about that,
and warned you.
But George
wanted me
to go there,
Polly says.
Master George
to you girl,
Dudman says,
know your place
in this house;
you will not
have dealings
sexually
with Master
George at all
or be fired
if you do;
understood?
Polly nods;
words fail her.
Understood,
Dudman says.
Yes I do,
Polly says
tearfully,
looking past
Dudman's head
at the wall.
She thinks of
George last time
in his bed
having ***
his moustache
tickling
her pale cheek,
having had ***
with him five
times that week.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
I take her Ladyship's tray
up to her with her breakfast
as Gripe told me to.
I try and balanced the tray
without spilling tea
from the teapot, or sliding
the small jug of milk
over everything.
I knock on her door
with my fist,
balancing the tray
against ***
and on hand.
No answer; the old mare's
still asleep; I tap louder.
I hear movement,
and a voice says,
come in, sleepily.
I open the door handle,
and lift the tray off
my *** and carry it
into the bedroom,
and she's lying there
on her pillows,
and her hair in a mess.
I close the door
with my backside,
and stand there
gazing at her.
Ah Polly, breakfast,
thank you.
She sits up,
and stares at me.
I place the tray down
carefully on the small
breakfast table,
and wheel it over her legs,
and stand back,
hands by my sides.
Master George maybe
coming home in a few weeks,
she says,
looking straight at me,
her eyes peering at me,
studying me.
O that's good,
your Ladyship,
I am glad to hear that,
I say and smile
a small smile.
It is good news;
I thought he would be
in the hospital for longer,
and I was afraid
he may not be home
for months on end.
I say nothing;
I see him in my mind
shafting me in his bed
that last time before
he went back to the Front;
his moustache against
my cheek,
his how'syourfather
entering me.
He will still need care,
and we will employ a nurse
to be here until he is well,
she says,
breaking into my memories.
Yes that would be good, Madam,
I say.
He seems very focused on you,
her Ladyship says,
he seems to call your name
frequently and no one
at the hospital knew
whose name it was,
and what relationship
she was to him.
I blush a little; he's
very kind and thoughtful,
I say,
pushing from my mind
him kissing my neck
and shoulder in his passion.
If your being here helps
his recovery that will be good,
her Ladyship says quietly,
eyeing me with her eyes.
You may go now,
she says.
I curtsy,
and leave the room,
and close the door,
wanting George inside me
all the more.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
Susie holds me close,
whispers in my ear,
Polly ain't you cold
with your arms
outside the blankets,
put them inside,
hug me closer.
I want George to hug,
not her,
his arms about me,
not her clutching me
in her desperate way,
his lips on mine,
not her wet lips
dribbling on my shoulder.
What you want me
so close for?
I say,
just get off to sleep,
and don't slobber on me.
But she hugs me closer,
her breath on my ear
whispering, Come on,
Polly, keep me warm,
I'm cold with the draft
from the attic windows
that don't meet properly,
Susie moans.
I put my arms inside,
put my arms about
her waist(skinny mare),
and think of George
stuck in some
hospital somewhere,
damaged by the War's
shock and blast,
and heads blown past,
and eyes sitting staring
on their own,
and wounded men's moan.
What you thinking of?
Susie says, sniffing
my *******
The War, and the Somme,
and Master George away,
hurt in mind they say.
Susie nods her head,
but wants me huddled nearer,
holds me close,
touches me, and says,
Shame about war,
and loss, and pain,
then she kisses
my neck again.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Each day I come
to Master George's room,
each day, Gripe says,
Polly keep it fresh
just in case.
As soon as
I open the door
I feel a shudder.
I fear he will not return,
that he will remain
in hospital of some kind
for ever, his mind shattered
by this War,
by what he saw,
his wounded mind.
I read that 19,240 men
were killed on the first day
of the Somme,
and 57,470 wounded,
of which he was one.
When will this War be over,
when will it be won?
I walk around
to the window,
and open it up.
Let air in,
refresh the room.
The curtains flap
in the incoming draft,
like wings of a bird
taking off in flight.
I begin to polish
the furniture, even though
I did it yesterday,
and the day before.
I smell him around me,
his scent, his shaving soap,
his having been here.
I look at the bed,
and remember how
we made love there
at his invitation,
me a maid, and he
the young master.
I put down the polish
and duster, and go
and sit on the bed,
bounce it a little.
I stare out at the view
of the window.
Trees sway, birds fly,
clouds drift by.
He kissed each
aspect of me,
kisses everywhere,
his lips there,
and his moustache
tickling me to giggles.
Now he is broken,
mind fragile as aged paper.
When he came
back here briefly,
he spoke of a man's head
sitting by his side
gazing at him,
a hand of one man
lying still on the trench
by his eyes.
I close my eyes,
and want him back,
back here, back mended,
and this War ended.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
There's a stillness
in his room.
Dust it well, Polly,
Gripe told me.
Smell of stale air,
mothballs, old smoke
still there.
The bed where we lay
and made love,
now still and vacant.
He away broken by war
and death seen
and felt at close quarters,
in some hospital
for wounds of body
and mind from war's touch
and hurl
and dug out flesh.
I sit on the bed
and muse of him there
and holding me
and kissing.
He would put a finger
to my lips and say:
hush Polly,
and his moustache
would tickle me
and his hands invade me
to a deep pleasure.
I bounce the bed gently.
When he was home last
(before the breakdown came)
he asked me up to his room
and it was so warm
and soft and him
kissing my neck
and slowly
each inch of me.
Now the room
is empty of him,
the bed a tomb
of where we were.
I hug a pillow to my breast,
kiss the cloth,
pretend it's him there,
holding him close,
closing eyes
and breathing out words.
Outside the window
the call of morning birds.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
Susie peels the potatoes
Mrs Gripe had told her to do
hands in cold water
back aching
the cook moaning
in the background
Polly by the other sink
washing pans
Susie wants it
to be night-time again
wants to be able
to put her hands round
Polly's waist again
to keep out the cold
and to smell Polly's back
as she had the night
before it was so cold
Polly didn't seem to mind
her hugging her
and secretly kissed her arm
while she slept
lips to her nightgown
covered arm
getting warm
snuggling there
feeling sensual
being close
to the other maid
in the attic bed
are you going to be all day
peeling those spuds
Gripe says
need them for dinner
wake up girl
Susie turns and stares
yes Mrs Gripe
she says
and peels faster
with the knife
avoiding nicking her thumb
as she nearly did just now
she glances over
to where Polly is working
mind elsewhere
thoughts on George no doubt
wanting him back here
not on that hospital far away
wish she wanted me
in the bed as she does him
Susie muses
wish she did to me
what she did to him
wish she kissed me
as she kissed him
Susie thinks
and when you've
done there girl
go fetch her Ladyship's tray
from breakfast
and don't slump so
and all Susie says
is sorry Mrs Gripe I will go.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC